The Challenge
by glb-03
Summary: Collection of one-shots for Maristela Freesia's 100 Theme Challenge. "The color blue was the most horrifying thing in the world, it was natural to be afraid of it. She didn't know how they could stand to see it and not scream at the utter terror of it."
1. Four Letters

A/N: As said in this story's summary, this is for Maristela Freesia's 100 Theme Challenge.

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Haymitch has a conversation with "his girl" and muses about the the complexity of love.**

* * *

_Theme One: Love_

**Four Letters**

Love is a four letter word. Who knew four letters could mean so much? I didn't, but I know better now. As she lay dying in my arms, I can almost understand the word. I understand as tears run down my face, cleaning the coal dust off my face.

Her eyes probe my gray ones with unusual intensity, "Take care of her."

"I will," I choke out.

"I mean it, Haymitch."

I try to laugh but it comes out as a sob. I hold her hand as she dies, her last smile still playing on her lips. I pull her closer to me and cry softly into her silky hair. I keep her body warm, hoping that if I do she'll somehow come back to me. But she's not going to, I know this all too well. Every person I love has been taken from me. My mother, my father, my little brother.

I sob again, realizing how this is all too similar to an earlier experience. I went through the same thing with Maysilee, I held her hand as she died. I cried when I thought the cameras weren't watching, couldn't let them see that the cocky front I put on was all an act.

I love- I mean, loved- them both. I loved Maysilee and my girl, my Amber. But who did I love more? It's not a question I can answer. I knew Amber longer, I loved her longer. Does that matter with love, though? Does love that lasted only for two weeks count as love, if when she was around you it was like the world was a better place even despite that you were competing in the Hunger Games?

Does it count? I'm sixteen-years old, how am I supposed to figure this out by myself? I have a sudden _need_ to ask my dad . . . but he's gone, too.

Love may be made up of only four letters, but it's the most complex word out there.


	2. Orb

**Rating: K**

**Summary: Katniss wonders what one of Peeta's means and is able to compare it to her own life.**

* * *

_Theme Two: Light_

_**Orb**  
_

"Peeta?" I ask, poking him gently. "Are you awake?"

His mouth curls up at the corners. "I am now."

I roll my eyes at him, but after a second, I really _look_ at him.

Peeta is like his paintings. Beautiful, at first glance, but then you see the emotion behind the images, the scars. It's all there: the terror, the killings, the blood of our Games. It's _him_ in those paintings, for the whole world to see. He's scarred but still finds beauty in even the smallest of things.

My personal favorite is his painting of a dandelion floating through the air. I can only smile at the memory, the happiness it brings me is mystifying.

Another that piques my interest every time I see it, is of a man holding a ball of light in his hands. I'm not sure how Peeta thought of it- maybe one of his few _good_ dreams- but the wonder on the man's face as he looks at the tiny orb is . . . _beautiful_.

I scoff softly when I see Peeta's eyes have closed, thinking he has fallen back asleep. He opens an eye at the sound and I laugh gently. He props himself up on an elbow and gives me a curious glance. "Katniss, I have a question."

"Yes?" I ask with a lazy smile.

"You love me. Real or not real?" he asks.

Wha . . . What did he just ask me?

I stare at him for a moment, shock and confusion making my thoughts a blur.

The painting of the main and his light, is suddenly my only clear thought. It takes me a minute to understand why.

Peeta is _my_ light. He's . . . He's the most precious thing to me in the world. I love him.

"Real."


	3. Blind

**Rating: T**

**Summary: A blind boy ponders his inability to see and his acceptance of death.**

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_Theme Three: Dark_

**Blind**

I am blind, the dark is all I see.

It's always been like this ever since I was born. Though the midwife who birthed me advised my parents to "put me out of my misery", I am still here. They loved me too much to let me die as a baby. I am thankful of that even though the midwife was mostly correct.

I have accepted the fact that I will never see colors. I will never see my sister's face, or my children if I choose to have them. I will never see the sun set and rise. I will never see _anything_. It's a hard thing to accept, that you'll always be in the dark.

Never seeing the light can damage a person permanently inside. Most children are scared of the dark, the dark is my natural habitat.

Maybe it shouldn't have surprised me when I was reaped. What Capitol person doesn't enjoy watching a blind kid stumble around and die before he even realizes he needs to run? It didn't surprise me much when I died, that's for sure. Maybe subconsciously I didn't want to live. I didn't want to live in the dark for sixty years.

Maybe it's better that when the trident sailed towards me all I saw nothing.

Because does knowing you're about to die make death any better than when you don't?


	4. Morphling

**Rating: T**

**Summary: A morphling addict from Six is disappointed with herself for succumbing to a drug and very easily gives up her life.**

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_Theme Four: Seeking Solace_

**Morphling**

I knew that using the morphling wouldn't help in the long-run, but when I took that first hit (and the second and third), I didn't think about long-term. I just thought about how good I felt in that moment. How, without morphling, I _never_ felt that good.

All I ever felt was grief from the murders I had committed in the Hunger Games. I had just wanted solace and with morphling . . . I found it. I never had to feel bad again if I didn't want to.

When they first told me about District 13 I had been so high, gosh, I started _singing_ about it. They had to cart me away, it's a good thing no one takes me seriously. The next time they tried to tell me I had came down from all the shit I injected into myself, so I had a chance to think about it.

Would I give my life up for The Mockingjay, The Girl on Fire, Katniss Everdeen if she was in danger? My answer was hell yes. The "life" I had been living, wasn't worth the trouble anymore.

I died in the Third Quarter Quell. It was all my fault. Because I made the mistake of getting addicted. The first hit of morphling sealed my fate and I didn't even know it until it was all over. I died because I was seeking solace.

Ha, who else can say that?


	5. Choices

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Finnick can't stop thinking about the choices he made in life- most were good, but he can't get over the one that took him from his wife and unborn son.**

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_Theme Five: Break Away_

**Choices**

Everyone makes choices, whether it's to go fishing with a friend of yours or to go off and fight in a war. Some are simple, some are complex. Some can make you happy . . .

And some can break you.

One of my first big choices I ever made was in my Games, when I chose to break away from the Career pack and go out on my own. To be honest, I think those Careers would have squashed me like a bug if I would have stayed. So I think it was a pretty good choice. Despite being only fourteen, I won. I still made it out. I chose _right_.

A fun fact that most don't know about me is that my parents were abusive. So after I won the Games, and they tried to make amends so they could get money out of me, I told them to shut the hell up and get out of my house. I avoided anywhere I thought they might be and I was finally _happy_.

Sometimes . . . even though I knew it was the right thing to do, I regret breaking away from my family.

When President Snow forced me into prostitution, I felt like I could explode with all the choices I had to make.

The biggest was Annie. She was the love of my life, despite people telling me that she was "crazy" and to give up on her. I didn't want to hurt her more than she all ready had been. She had . . . so much taken away from her and I should have known to treat her like. But I chose to break away from Annie for three years. That was three years I could have spent loving her more, taking care of her.

I eventually couldn't help myself and began my relationship with Annie again. I had five years to spend with her and then my final decision came. I chose to break away from my wife and unborn child and go to the Capitol to fight.

Some people might say it was a bad decision since I died and all. But . . . because of my sacrifice for the rest of my team, my family is safe.

And that's all I ever needed.


	6. Never Had a Chance

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Rue tries to keep herself from hoping, but try as she may, can't keep herself from it.**

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_Theme Six: Innocence_

**Never Had a Chance**_  
_

_My life is over_, I thought as I ran to the Cornucopia. It didn't hurt me to think it, I had spent the last week trying to prepare myself for my departure from this world. I grabbed a small pack and dashed away to the forest.

_I am going to die,_ was my constant thought as days past. I stayed hidden, swinging through tree to tree when people get too close to me for comfort._  
_

I saw the girl from District Twelve treed by the Careers. I motioned to the tracker jacker nest, even though I should have been happy a competitor was going to be killed. She motioned for me to run. I do. _Maybe I've found a friend_.

I looked to the sky that night and saw that the girl had survived and taken down two Careers in the process. She was a force to be reckoned with. I found the girl lying there, thrashing in some brush. I could kill her, knock her out of the competition and she wouldn't even know it.

I tried to make myself, but looking into her face, I knew I couldn't. So I put a healing concoction on her stings. I made an alliance with the girl, Katniss, and we made a plan to take out the Career's food supply. _Maybe this will change the Game_.

I heard the explosions and grinned as I swung through the tress. _Maybe I _do_ have a chance_.

I go to the ground to collect berries for my lunch, and somehow find myself in a net. I laid there for at least an hour when Katniss found me. I let out a sigh. _I am saved_.

Then the spear entered my body and I felt the crushing despair that, _I'm going to die_. The hoping made it all the more worse, I deluded myself into thinking I had a chance, for this pain?

Katniss quickly killed the boy that speared me, effectively ending my life. I can't help but think maliciously, _He deserved it_.

No one innocent has ever won the Hunger Games. I never had a chance.


	7. Fallen

**Rating: T**

**Summary: The District's people mourn their lost loved ones.**

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_Theme Seven: Breathe Again_

**Fallen**_  
_

So many fallen,

So many dead.

So many killing,

Having lost their head.

So many trying,

to keep themselves fed.

So many die in accidents,

leaving their spouse to lie alone in bed.

So many mourning families hoping,

that their loved one will breathe again.


	8. Epidemic

**Rating: T**

**Summary: A father writes his child a letter, telling of an epidemic that wiped out most of District Four's population.**

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_Theme Eight: Memory_

**Epidemic**_  
_

It was twelve years after the torture of the Hunger Games began and District Four was celebrating its third victory. Most of the district, that is.

District Four was always the most picturesque of the districts, with its beautiful blue oceans and pure white beaches. Everywhere you looked, something filled you with a sort of romantic pleasure. Its myriad of naturally beautiful faces helped it also.

That is why, whenever a Capitolite decided to be adventurous and visit a district, they always chose Four. It is also why it was the first district where anger and rebels were found.

The Capitol was very antsy about this discovery. Four was one of their pride and joy districts. They gave the people everything they needed. Why were they so disrespectful?

So they decided to wipe out the parts of town where the most unrest was found, namely the poorest sections.

Whenever a Capitol citizen visited they were given blankets and told to give them to the unfortunate by officials. Little did the unfortunate know that the blankets given out had belonged to very sick- now dead- patients of the Capitol.

The effects were appalling. People would fall dead on the street, choking and coughing up blood that was infected with the highly contagious disease. It was an epidemic of the worst kind. People became ruthless, killing for medicines so their loved ones could live. So often, though, the medicines were of no help.

I lived near the place where the disease first showed its ugly face. I was infected early on, my death was imminent, and I was at peace with what was going to happen as long as no harm came to my wife and my young child.

My wife was a very stubborn woman, though, and insisted on nursing me back to health. My death was probable, and yet, with the help of my dear Marietta, I survived.

I would soon wish I had died, though. Marietta contracted the illness and died before I was able to recover enough to help her.

I was left with a three-year old daughter to raise by myself, a deep hatred for the Capitol, and a lost will to live.

Few who were willing to fight the Capitol were left, and only some knew that the outbreak was intentional.

Anemone, I have told you this so you would know why I've been angry your whole life. I wanted you to know the truth of what happened so long ago that no one even remembers.

I've waited eighteen years for the moment when you could provide for yourself. I loved you too much to leave you alone and helpless.

I am finally able to reunite with your mother. I hoped for disease to take me, as it should have so many years ago, but it has not, so I am forced to take my own life.

I will not dwell on what all I might miss of your life, but know that I'm sorry for all of it. Remember that I've always loved you, don't forget that.

Most of your memories of me will eventually fade, just like the memories of your mother have slowly left me. I have tried to remember her face in the past year and the lines are blurry. I will die . . . but maybe, possibly, her face won't be a memory anymore.

Dad.


	9. Blue

A/N: Okay, I felt the need to put a warning all you readers because this is more than a little disturbing. It is pretty gory near the end, and mentions domestic abuse around the same time, too. It's about a Capitol citizen, she's a little . . . different, to say the least. This is officially my favorite one-shot ever, I think.

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Rusa, a patient in a Capitol asylum, finds herself in the horror story that is her past when a psychiatrist mentions Rusa's husband.**

* * *

_Theme Nine: Insanity_

**Blue**

Rusa hated the word _insane_, that's what all the doctors called her, telling her to come with them and they'd _fix_ her. She didn't need _fixing_, she was perfectly sane, thank you very much. She just had a . . . a lot of things to express.

They didn't _understand_ when she embroidered her thoughts onto a quilt, all in red thread. It was just like writing in a journal, she reasoned, only it took up more of her time. They thought she was crazy. _She wasn't insane_, how many times did she have to tell them that?

She hated it when they forced pills into her, huge greens and yellows, catching in her throat and causing her to vomit. You would think they would stop, give up, but they only shoved more into Rusa's mouth.

"Family Day" was _torture_. A woman with curled neon yellow hair and _blue eyes_ came every time, no matter how many times Rusa screamed in terror at the sight of her. They told her the woman was her mother, but that couldn't be. If her mother was a monster that would make Rusa a monster, and she _wasn't_ a monster. She knew this, just like she knew she _wasn't insane_.

They didn't understand why the color blue terrified her, told her she was a_ lunatic_. She sometimes laughed when she thought of it, because the joke was on them. She wasn't _insane_. Blue was the most horrifying thing in the world, it was _natural_ to be afraid of it. She didn't know how they could stand to see it and not scream at the _utter_ _terror_ of it.

"Rusa?" she heard her psychiatrist call.

She rocked back and forth. "What do you want?"

"Thank you for speaking with me today," he said warmly. "I know you like to keep to yourself but your thoughts have been eye-opening."

Rusa stared at the man, noticing his eyes were brown. Brown was a safe color, it looked nothing like _blue_. "Y-Your welcome."

"I have to say I'm surprised that you've opened up so much, considering how short a time you've been here," the man went on. "I'm rambling, aren't I? Let's continue. Can you tell me anything about the night of June 26?"

"J-June?" Rusa whispered. "The twenty-sixth?"

"I just want to know what you did that night," the man replied nonchalantly. "Did you watch any television? What did you have for dinner? Was your husband home?"

"My . . . My husband?" Rusa whispered. "He was . . . out, _out_, _OUT!_"

Blood. Where was all this blood coming from? It was _seeping_ from under her nails, and she viciously bit at them. Her hair was matted with it, so she _tore_ it out. Her face was covered with it, so she _scratched_ it all away, taking chunks of skin with it.

Rusa remembered that night, the twenty-sixth. Her husband came home, smelling of hard liquor, yelling at her to get off her ass and clean the house- it was a fucking _mess_.

"It's clean!" she shrieked. "_Spotless_! I cleaned it, I know I did!"

His voice was _so loud_. She blocked the sound from her ears with her hands. He tore them away, hauling her toward the kitchen. "Cook, dammit! I said _cook_!"

He threw her to the ground and kicked her. Rusa sobbed into the floor, her chest aching from the pain. "_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_."

He kept hitting her, tearing at her. She hurt, _so much_, everything hurt. And it all vanished.

She woke hours later, aching and wondering why she was crusted to the kitchen tile by her own blood. _He_ did this. Her husband had _thrown_ her onto the ground and _beat her_. Her _husband_.

Rusa didn't know how she went from on the kitchen floor to in her bed, straddling her husband, and massacring him until you couldn't even tell he had been a human being. All she saw was a hunk of meat.

"_YOU FUCKING MONSTER! YOU'RE A MONSTER! DIE! FUCKING DIE!_"

There was blood _everywhere_, on the ceiling, walls, soaking through the mattress, covering her from head to foot. His guts were strode on the bed around her, and she held the butcher knife like it was an extension of her arm, looking much more skilled with it than she had any right to.

And in a moment, all the rage vanished. All she could see was this _thing_, something that used to be a human being. _She_ had done this . . . this _horror_. The first time her husband had beat her she had vowed- _vowed_- to never hurt a human being. _Look what she had done!_ She was no better than _him_. She was a _monster_.

"You _are_ a monster," something whispered. Rusa looked around wildly, _someone was there_. No one was in the room, though. The same thing was whispered again and she slowly looked down. It was the pile of meat that used to be her husband, that was still seeping blood and other fluids she didn't know the names of.

The corpse was _talking_ to her. Her husband was- _impossibly_- still alive. He was going to_ kill her_, going to torture her until she _begged_ for him to end it. He was going to make what she had done to him look like _child's play_. She shrieked in horror and flung herself off the bed.

Rusa cowered by the bed, waiting for him to get up, to hurt her. She knew he would. He would. _He would_.

She didn't know where the butcher knife had gone, she must have dropped it when she was trying to get away from him. But she was still gripping something in her hand. She opened it, curiosity overwhelming her horror.

In her palm was an eye. Rusa was shocked to find that the iris was still blue. It was the color of her husband's eyes, even in death.

_You always _were_ afraid to look me in the eye._

She screamed and was suddenly back in the psychiatrist's room, breathing hard, shrieking. The man was trying to calm her down, with his _safe_ brown eyes. Rusa held onto the psychiatrist, pulling him close. Her husband was still _alive_, she knew this, there was no way he could still be talking to her if he wasn't.

_I'm still here, sweetheart. I'll always be here, watching you._


End file.
